


Descendants

by irislim



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Family, Romance, legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: "No!" She hated that such a conclusive word was the first and only thing she uttered. "But he is not like his father." Her daughter's eyes - regal when presented in a London ballroom - appeared pleading and almost childlike now. "Francis loves me, Mother - and I love him." The unlikely love story between Miss Darcy of Pemberley and her cousin Francis Wickham.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Lydia Bennet/George Wickham
Comments: 22
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

"No!" She hated that such a conclusive word was the first and only thing she uttered. Still, she did not truly have any other choice. "No, Bethanne, No."

"But he is not like his father." Her daughter's eyes - regal when presented in a London ballroom - appeared pleading and almost childlike now. "Francis loves me, Mother - and I love him."

"You are sixteen, child. What could you possibly know - about love?" Elizabeth Darcy wrestled her huff into a sigh.

"Aunt Wickham was married when she – "

"No!" Elizabeth stood and marched across the room, barely keeping her temper. Of all the things her doe-eyed daughter could have asked for, _this_ was the least expected – and the least desirable, as well.

"Mother, you told me love was – "

"When could this have happened? How could you have even come to know him?" Elizabeth turned to face her daughter, fire in her veins. Her child, her eldest, the beloved first fruit of their young love – when was her pristine mind sullied with such horrid fancies?

"Francis and I met at London." Bethanne's voice, and hands, trembled as she explained. "I was residing with Aunt Bingley this spring, and he came to visit."

"From Longbourn," Elizabeth recalled, sorrowfully.

"Yes, from Longbourn."

Elizabeth shut her eyes, trembling at what her beloved daughter was asking of her this very moment.

Bethanne was too young, too naïve – what did she know of love? And she herself, Elizabeth, was a failure as a parent for not having foreseen this exchange occurring.

She had a long letter to pen to Jane.

"He was nothing but kind and gentlemanly, Mother."

Elizabeth gripped the back of the chair stationed right before her. Every word she could possibly utter felt ill-advised in light of her daughter's revelation.

She had striven so hard to be the perfect mother – attentive, dedicated, caring, and firm. Where her sisters had chosen to be negligent, she chose to be involved. Whatever traits her sisters had considered unnecessary in their children, Elizabeth had insisted be instilled in hers.

Edward was a weak and sickly child, limited in the activities he could pursue.

But Bethanne – her beloved Bethanne – was everything an accomplished young woman ought to be. Where exactly in her impeccable education had things gone wrong?

Why – _why_ would a young woman with everything in the world seek to give her heart to a man whose father was the vilest creature on earth?

Elizabeth struggled to breathe evenly.

"Is there no possibility at all, Mother?"

Elizabeth trembled at the sight of her daughter's teary eyes – the confidence and joy with which she'd prance into the room now wholly replaced with heartbreak and despair.

"I – I shall discuss with your father," Elizabeth compelled herself to say.

* * *

"Francis _Wickham_?" Darcy growled, hands instantly fisted.

"They met at Jane's this past season." Elizabeth leaned helplessly against her pillow. She closed her eyes. The bedroom they shared felt warmer than it often was of late. "I should never have let her go unattended."

"She is a young woman - and ought to have had more sense for herself." Her husband ran a hand across his face. "Surely, she could not have been so easily led astray by a handsome smile or a flatterer's tongue!"

"I thought we raised her better – that _I_ raised her better," Elizabeth lamented, the waves of guilt rising anew. "Have we not warned her, innumerable times, against the folly of those who seek shallow pleasure?"

"He tried with Georgiana – and now, with Bethanne." There was an almost tearful, frantic edge to Darcy's voice. Elizabeth reached for his hand. He clasped hers firmly. "Are the attempts at Pemberley's coffers never to end?"

"At the very least – they have not chosen to elope."

Her husband's look turned wild, and Elizabeth felt her error.

"Not that they could – or would – I – " She trembled. She used both hands to grasp her husband's. "I dearly, dearly hope such thoughts have not occurred to our daughter. God forbid that any of Lydia's impulsiveness have found its way through her veins."

Darcy sighed and groaned all at once, perhaps in concurrence. For an entire minute, they sat in the bed that had often yielded so much joy – with heavy, fearful hearts and limbs.

"How shall we tell her?" Darcy asked, as the night deepened. "I fear she would expect an answer in the morning."

"I am afraid so." Elizabeth wiped the tear on her cheek.

"I _refuse_ to allow any of Wickham's offspring to come _close_ to any of mine."

"And to think I had used to find solace in the fact that they never had more than one child." Elizabeth slipped down, reclining more than she was sitting now. "One was all they needed."

"It is unacceptable."

"Of course."

"And you believe Bethanne shall see reason?"

The answer, of course, was that she did not know. They could not know. The uncertainty in Darcy's own tone implied that he feared the truth as well.

Their daughter had written enthusiastically about her new acquaintances throughout her London stay. She had alluded to new and fascinating friends – and Elizabeth had never thought twice about what names these new friends could have had, choosing instead to trust Jane and her chaperonage.

Who knew that such danger was to be found in their closest circles – in the hands of someone who shared their blood?

"I do not know," Elizabeth replied, limply. "She was confident – unduly confident – that we would support her."

"How could we when she chooses – "

"I know. I know." Elizabeth sniffed. Her husband took her in his arms. "It is unacceptable."

"A child born of Wickham – " Darcy shuddered.

"He was raised by my father – left in Longbourn as a babe while his parents stayed in the North. I realized only today that he visited the Bingleys often. I supposed the frequency of his visits caused Jane to consider them unremarkable."

"And yet remarkable they were – this time."

"Most horrifically so." Elizabeth wiped her fresh tears. Her husband pressed her close in a comforting, and trembling, embrace.

"Did you promise our support today when she informed you of her – preference?"

"No – never." Elizabeth sighed. "Her disappointment was evident. Though her eyes – they carried hope, still."

"Hope that we would consent?"

"That we would consent – and perhaps even share in her happiness."

"Impossible!"

"I know. I know." Every thought only served to make Elizabeth's heart hurt more – for herself, for her husband, for her child.

"With Edward so frail, it is imperative that Bethanne marry wisely."

"And it is not as if we ask her to marry someone she does not love."

"No – we do not."

"If she had but guarded her heart, it would all – " More tears threatened to flood her face. "But how can I tell her – what if she pleads – or threatens to flee. How can I – "

"You are right. There is no other way."

Elizabeth waited for her husband to complete his thought.

"We must divide them."

"They are apart now."

"But we cannot be certain. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. We must see to their estrangement ourselves."

Again, Elizabeth waited.

"We must have Bethanne see the truth – for herself. But first, we must apprise Francis Wickham for his true self."

Elizabeth nodded. "How?"

Darcy's gaze was focused, intense. "Perhaps it is time to invite our nephew to Pemberley."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have expressed dissatisfaction about the first-cousins pairing. I would like to state that I am not trying to support cousin marriage through this story (or another one of my upcoming stories, actually). But since it was common practice at the time, and since the premise requires such a pairing for the plot to exist at all, I do not apologize for creating this story. Of all the possible JAFF Romeo/Juliet scenarios, I believe a pairing between children of couples we know well has the most impact.
> 
> I have always been upfront about the pairing. Please do not read this story if the premise is off-putting to you. And to everyone else, thanks for joining me on this little adventure!

"Are we choosing wisely?" Elizabeth wrapped her hand around her husband's, her eyes - and, she trusted, his as well - locked on the carriage currently Matlock-bound. The carriage held their only daughter, who had miraculously trusted them enough to agree to this sudden visit.

Perhaps it was best that Lady Matlock preferred Bethanne's company so keenly.

It made the arrangement just that much easier to form.

"I most certainly hope we are," came her husband's hushed reply.

Elizabeth nodded, standing so close to him that she had but to lean slightly to rest her head on his gallant shoulder.

His shoulders felt heavier today, however - weighed down with troubles not of his own creation.

Her husband was a man who had weathered much in his life. From the day they had married, Elizabeth had sworn to be a source of comfort to him. Day after day, year after year, she had striven to provide him with a home and a family who brought him nothing but joy.

Who could have thought that their daughter - their first child - that tiny creature who had unraveled the hearts of her parents and knitted them all together as one - would be the source of so much distress today?

"When is your sister due to arrive?" asked Darcy.

Elizabeth sighed, still discomfited by the news that Francis had written to his mother regarding his invitation to Pemberley - and Lydia, being who she was, had immediately considered herself invited as well.

Thank God Wickham remained stationed in the North.

"We have one night of quiet with Edward," Elizabeth replied.

"Very well, let us enjoy it as we can."

Elizabeth nodded, just before she pressed a kiss on her husband's cheek.

* * *

"Oh, but the colors and the fabrics and the gold!" Lydia whirled around the drawing room before seating herself on the largest chair in the room, a chair reserved day to day for Elizabeth's husband. Lydia's eyes continued to survey all the details of her surroundings. "I dare say I now understand why you barely leave Pemberley, Lizzy. The place is a veritable palace!"

Elizabeth sighed, striving her best to remain civil in the face of Lydia's shameless adoration of the Darcys' material wealth.

"Mama," Francis - a tall and handsome young man, whose features combined the best in both his parents - called out to his mother. Elizabeth observed the boy as he walked to stand by Lydia. His gait was crisp, though casual. He walked as one who had never walked in London's hallowed halls would stride. "Should we not wait for Aunt Darcy?"

Francis's unexpected prompting led Lydia to refocus on her standing sister.

Elizabeth shifted her stance and cleared her throat.

"Shall we be seated?" She spoke with all the regality her years of marriage had lent her.

Lydia, the silly woman, _laughed_.

"See now, Francis, darling. She asks us to sit all the same! It may have been years, but I _do_ know my sister's mind."

The woman now called Mrs. Wickham smiled brightly at Elizabeth, and young Mr. Wickham bowed before taking a seat near his mother.

Elizabeth chose the couch, a safer distance from her exuberant sibling.

"It is awfully kind of you to invite us, Lizzy," Lydia prattled on, smiling still. "I seldom see my own son these days, with his always being at Loungborn. Thank goodness Jane invited him to London - lest he waste away in Papa's study!"

Lydia chuckled, her eyes unjustifiably merry.

Elizabeth had half a mind to remind her sister that _she_ had not been invited.

But Lydia's reference to Francis's most recent trip to town made sure that Elizabeth's thoughts were drawn to the primary purpose of this entire visit in the first place.

"Mrs. Wickham, Mr. Wickham, welcome to Pemberley," Elizabeth stated, her hands folded on her lap. "I trust you shall find your rooms suited to your liking. We have spared no expense for your comfort."

In one wing of the house, her husband toiled away in his study. A few doors from him, little Edward toiled away with his lessons. They were all to convene for supper tonight.

Between that meal and the scene at the drawing room this very instance, Elizabeth ought to have multiple opportunities to let the young boy show his true colors before the rest of the household.

It was imperative that Elizabeth handle her role in this arrangement perfectly.

"Pemberley has an expansive staff that have been trained for such occasions," Elizabeth declared. "Pray, do not hesitate to inquire of them whatever you may wish for your stay."

"Oh, you are _too_ kind, Lizzy!" Lydia was quick to exclaim. "I have been famished for years with dear Wicky's regiment in the cold, harsh North. I used to be sad, you know, that I'd lost both the babes before Francis came - but I must be thankful all the same that we don't have that many mouths to feed."

"Mama," Francis interceded.

"Oh, it's quite alright. Lizzy knows all about it." Lydia dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "But isn't it _splendid_ now that we are all together here? And with Lizzy and her husband so very generous with us. Oh! Shall we have _chocolate_ amongst our sweets today?"

"Mama, it would be improper for us to abuse Aunt and Uncle Darcy's kindness," Francis corrected.

"Oh, pish posh. You don't know what you are saying, boy."

There was a familiarity to the way the boy uttered his words, the way he frowned almost disapprovingly at his mother. The tone with which he reprimanded his mother - it reminded Elizabeth all too much of the times her own father _had_ chosen to temper her mother's outbursts.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Francis, do not fret. You are our nephew. We would be honored to offer you whatsoever you may desire of this household."

There was one quick moment, one fleeting instant, when Francis Wickham and his affable face seemed to look as if he yearned to say something he knew he ought not to say.

Then he smiled, well-mannered, once more. "Thank you, Aunt Darcy. You are most kind. I trust any provisions you have made should prove far beyond what my mother and I may need."

Elizabeth nodded slowly, discontent with how properly the boy was acting.

It seemed to be that much greater effort had to be exerted to have him reveal his shallow, mercenary nature.

Elizabeth sighed, unimpressed by the prospect of the task before them.

Then she made herself to smile. "Mrs. Reynolds shall show you to your rooms."

* * *

Three days passed.

Three whole days of ceaseless provocation - and, _still_ , Francis Wickham refused to provide any just cause for the dismissal of his suit outside of his most unfortunate pedigree. In fact, the young man spent each day dedicated to accompanying the two ladies of the house - and, upon occasion, Edward and Darcy - without a single word in reference to his supposed inclination for Bethanne. Neither had Darcy, or Elizabeth, found him corresponding with anyone but Mr. Bennet.

Darcy was beginning to hope that Bethanne's understanding with her cousin had been only in her mind.

To love alone was a sorrowful thing - but a much easier thing to surmount than any mutual affections.

Oh God forbid that Bethanne Darcy become a Mrs. _Wickham_!

Darcy shuddered at the thought.

"Uncle Darcy, Aunt Darcy said you called for me?" The young man who was the very cause of Darcy's consternation appeared at his door.

"Yes," Darcy bid him to enter. Here, in Pemberley's study, Darcy felt himself able to fully control and employ all his capacities as master and man. "Do sit."

Francis obeyed, with a smile.

It was a handsome smile that Darcy had come to dread.

"You have been here - for many nights now," Darcy began, eager to receive confirmation that there existed no understanding between this person and his daughter. "I hope you have found Pemberley to your liking."

"Your family has been most generous. I shall treasure the many things I have learned."

Darcy nodded. "And has anything in Pemberley - perhaps caught your eye?"

"I particularly enjoyed the library, sir," he replied with no hesitation. "I count myself privileged to have had the chance to immerse myself in such a treasure trove of knowledge."

Again, Darcy nodded. How was this young man so impenetrable?

It was true that Mr. Bennet's influence radiated from him - and he acted every bit the Hertfordshire gentleman over a military brat.

But a segment in the back of Darcy's mind insisted that there was no possible way George Wickham's son could be this astute and aspiring young man sitting before him.

"As you see, your Aunt Darcy and I count ourselves honored to contribute to your education," Darcy nearly half-lied. He shifted slightly. "Perhaps this would be a good time then - for us to discuss what the goal of your education happens to be?"

Francis took one fleeting second before nodding and smiling once more. "Your advice would be invaluable, Uncle Darcy."

Darcy nodded and grunted. He folded his arms.

"It is to my understanding that you were largely raised at Longbourn."

"Indeed, sir. Grandfather Bennet saw to my education personally."

"Right - and I trust you are aware that Longbourn is entailed away from the female line?"

"Yes." Francis nodded, without a smile this time. "It is fortunate for my grandmother that Grandfather lives in good health to this day."

"You have no aspirations to inherit Longbourn."

"I fear I have no means to break the entail, sir," Francis answered openly. He smiled again, though only quickly this time. "I am prepared to seek my own profession."

"To what end to you expect to be trained?"

"For the cloth, sir. Cousin Collins has his patron's word that I shall be offered the Hunsford living upon his inheriting Longbourn."

The news, so easily recited off Francis's tongue, caught Darcy entirely by surprise.

Wickham's son as a _parson_ \- the thought itself was absurd!

Darcy moved his face about slightly to suppress any sign of unholy bemusement.

"You consider yourself devout?" He asked.

"I know the circumstances of my parents' marriage." Francis's words surprised him again. "I seek to provide care and counsel for a village lest more stumble as they did."

Darcy spent a minute considering what sort of patron Anne de Bourgh's husband - the third son of an earl, who now lived with her in Rosings Park - would be.

The prospect of the Hunsford living was perhaps a more favorable one than it had used to be.

"And you seek to provide this care and counsel - as a bachelor?" The words came to Darcy.

And there they were - uncle and nephew - at the very crux of their conversation.

"If the Lord would have me marry, sir, I would gladly do so," spoke Francis.

"To any lady in particular?" Darcy maintained his level stare.

Francis inhaled, slowly, before sighing quite audibly.

"Is there a question, sir, that you wish to ask me?"

The bluntness was welcome.

And Darcy asked freely, "Do you or do you not have designs upon my daughter Bethanne?"

Francis closed his eyes, shutting his visual connection to the world, before reopening them.

His words were crisp when he answered, "I cannot lie, Uncle Darcy. I admire Cousin Beth - exceedingly so. Her kindness and intelligence render her the most remarkable lady of my acquaintance. She is beautiful - but not conceited over her beauty. She is accomplished - yet ever friendly without condescension to others who are not her equal. Her conversation infuses any room with happiness, and she brightens the lives of all she comes to know."

Darcy's jaw was set as tight as it could be.

"But who am I to consider myself worthy of her hand?" Francis continued, unprompted. A look of sadness now weighed upon his face. "Shall I have a young woman raised amidst the splendor of Pemberley lower herself to be a parson's wife - living far away from her childhood home - with her own relatives as her husband's patron? I cannot."

Darcy watched as Francis ran his hands over his face.

"If I truly care for her - which I do, sir, I truly do - then I _cannot_ permit her this life. I would never dare to aspire to her hand in marriage."

"And yet you make your feelings known to her." Darcy could not help his reply.

"I have never spoken directly to her of my affections," Francis explained. "And if my actions or words have - inadvertently - conveyed to her the depth of my feelings, then I plead for your forgiveness, Uncle Darcy. Perhaps I had tried so intensely to guard my true thoughts from my mother that I had failed to guard them successfully from Cousin Beth herself."

Darcy wished he could find insincerity behind this eloquent young man's words.

To his dismay, he could not.

"And if Bethanne herself - wishes for your company," he said, slowly.

A flicker of hope seemed to dance itself into Francis Wickham's gaze.

"I - then I throw myself at your mercy, Uncle Darcy."

Eventually, Darcy nodded. "Very well. Shall you leave me alone to my work, Francis? I have much to attend to."

"Yes, Uncle Darcy, of course."

The study door closed, and Darcy's very, very full heart nearly led him to collapse upon his desk.

He had much to discuss with his wife tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was interesting for me to explore the themes of pride and of prejudice in the context of this story. I know I caused my own parents plenty of heartaches back in the day. I hope I conveyed Darcy and Elizabeth's perspectives well!


	3. Chapter 3

"For once in my life, Elizabeth, I cannot decide. I wish nothing but the best for our daughter - but I fear her resentment if we ignore her counsel."

"Or her free will."

"Indeed."

They had retired that night - both husband and wife - to tiring, uneven sleep. Uncertainty that they had not faced for years - not since their own unlikely courtship - settled with great weight upon their room, their minds, and their lives.

"Shall we have her return then?" Darcy had asked before she had blown out the final candle.

It had taken Elizabeth three heartbeats to reply, "I suppose we must."

And here they were, once again, pensively cautious of the day ahead as they awaited another carriage to arrive at Pemberley. Neither the letter for Lady Matlock nor the one for Bethanne had alluded to the presence of Mrs. and Francis Wickham. Both had merely stated that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy wished for their daughter to return.

It was with great relief that Elizabeth learned of their immediate, unquestioning compliance.

At least, she need not witness her daughter arriving at Pemberley more eager to see her cousin than her own father and mother.

"When is she due to arrive?" Darcy whispered as he finished breaking his fast.

"By noon," replied Elizabeth.

Darcy nodded, looking less troubled than he had last night.

Perhaps the reality of their choice had finally begun to take root in their hearts.

It was not as if they were ready to bless a union between Francis and Bethanne. That desire was far - still incredibly far from their intentions.

They had concurred, however, that repressed infatuation would only grow - and their best alternative was to observe the two young people occupy the same room. Perhaps, if heaven allowed it, familiarity would breed contempt and the cousins would tire of each other. Or, perhaps, they would seek to begin a courtship.

And if it were destined to be the latter, then Darcy and Elizabeth would much rather have it occur within their sights.

They parted soon after, leaving Elizabeth to her leisure as she readied Bethanne's rooms for her return. Then, having finished the task, she settled herself to await Pemberley's carriage.

Lydia had a headache today and rested in her guest room. Francis had taken to the library. With her husband in his study, Elizabeth felt alone - uneasily alone - in the drawing room. It was not her first time indulging in such solitude. But there was something different today - an odd sense of foreboding.

She tried to read and to sew - but, soon, the clock struck noon.

"A note - for Mr. Darcy." The footman appeared all of a sudden, causing Elizabeth to jump.

Elizabeth found herself fearful for no apparent reason as she met the servant's eye.

Why did the footman not bring the note to the study? Why did he appear so frantic, so worried?

"Is anything the matter?" Elizabeth stood.

"The man who delivered it - was not of the regular post, madam."

"I see." Quickly, Elizabeth stalked across the room to retrieve the note. She dismissed the footman, witnessed the unsavory condition of the roughly-folded paper, and broke into a run for her husband's study.

"Elizabeth?" Her husband frowned at her state when she dashed into his sanctuary. He stood. "What has happened?"

She shoved the note into his hands. He read it with trembling lips and trembling fingers.

"Is it as I feared?" Elizabeth cried.

"Yes - Bethanne has been kidnapped." Darcy's voice, and his entire frame, shook violently. "They demand a ransom of ten thousand pounds to be delivered by the morning - else they threaten to take her life."

It took all of Elizabeth's efforts not to faint.

* * *

"And what if the kidnappers were to come here?" Lydia Wickham wailed when they informed her at last, just before the party departed.

"Hush, Lydia!" Elizabeth was quick to rebuke her sister. "We do not wish to have word spread. Bethanne's safety and reputation are at risk."

"Can we not pay them to go away?" Mrs. Wickham moaned. Her shuddering frame made Darcy wonder how his prudent, resilient wife could possibly have shared a home with this whimpering woman. "They wouldn't harm her, would they?"

"Mama, Uncle Darcy is right to seek a faster solution," Francis spoke then, his youthful energy reverberating throughout the guest room the four of them currently occupied. "We must rescue Cousin Bethanne while we can."

"Do you even know where she is?"

"We can - find her," Francis replied before looking towards Darcy.

Darcy met the young man's eyes briefly before releasing a sigh.

His heart aches with every word he uttered, "We have news - historically - of where the highwaymen tend to hide themselves in these parts. We must try."

"But do you even _know_ , Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Wickham's hysterics were fast rivaling her mother's.

Darcy clenched his fists. "We must try."

"I will help Uncle Darcy every way I can," Francis vowed openly.

"And what if anything were to happen to _you_!" Mrs. Wickham now addressed her son. "How could I bear having _anything_ happen to my _only_ child!"

To Francis Wickham's great credit, he stood tall and answered plainly. "My life's worth can be measured only by how much I can use it to save and serve. I refuse to leave Cousin Bethanne in danger while I tarry in Pemberley."

"And shall neither of you stay here to protect _us_?"

"Pemberley is safe, Lydia," Elizabeth intervened. "We will not see harm. We merely chose to inform you because Francis will be aiding his uncle in the search."

"And if you find these men," Mrs. Wickham lamented, "how are the two of you to fight them? You are - scholars and gentlemen! My Francis could never survive a brutal fight with desperate thieves!"

"Mama!"

An urgent knocking at the door interrupted whatever other protests Mrs. Wickham was about to offer.

"Yes?" Darcy commanded.

A footman and a maid, both pensive, revealed themselves slowly.

"Mr. Darcy - "

"Yes? Out with it."

"You have a visitor, sir."

Darcy frowned. "Who?"

"A - a Mr. George Wickham."

* * *

"What reason could you possibly have to justify your presence!" Darcy thundered in his study. He marched behind his desk, every inch the rightful master of Pemberley.

At least Wickham did not try to seat himself without asking.

"I can help, brother."

"I consider you no brother." Darcy turned to glare at the man who insisted, through the decades, to plague his life. "Speak! Why are you here?"

"My regiment happened to be stationed two villages away. I heard through my men regarding the abduction."

"And am I to presume you innocent in this matter, _Wickham_?" Darcy practically sneered at his worthless scum of a relative.

Wickham took one step back, hands braced in the air before him. "I swear, Darcy, I have done many unworthy things - but I have lived my life straight since Francis' birth."

Darcy huffed, burdened by the myriad unwelcome events - and their never-ending consequences - this long, desperate day.

"And why - should you have heard of this attack - do you believe yourself capable and willing to assist us?" Darcy asked, when he finally caught his breath once more. He planted his eyes firmly on Wickham's person, surveying him for any signs of insincerity.

"Similar attempts had been made upon the Harringtons - a mere three months ago." Wickham did not _seem_ to be pulling facts out of thin air. "The eldest Miss Harrington was kidnapped as she returned from London. We learned of the event because she had been in correspondence with one of my men."

Darcy listened, patiently.

"Mr. and Mrs. Harrington requested for our help, under the highest level of discretion. We recovered Miss Harrington by acting swiftly under the cover of night."

"And these men are with you now - in my home?"

"I brought only my two most trusted officers," Wickham replied.

Darcy stopped to think.

It was very difficult to think.

"Darcy, I apologize - for every single offense I have committed against you and your family in the past. But marriage, and fatherhood, and life has taught me that actions yield results - and I have striven to make wise choices ever since. Please, believe me, today, for the benefit of your family. Allow me to help."

Darcy wondered just how many risks he was being called upon the take this bloody year.

"Very well. Let us depart, posthaste. _Do not_ betray my trust."

"I promise - on my only son's life."

* * *

"You believe this to be their station?" Darcy whispered, hunched behind the thick bushes.

Through the foliage, he caught glimpses of a sturdy, sparse hut well-lit from within. Two men clad in rough, scant clothing paced back and forth across the sole entrance. One man carried a knife, the other a rifle.

"It is the very same place where we'd delivered Miss Harrington," Wickham whispered back.

It was a choice that Wickham made - to have his best man approach the hut from the back, to have Francis and his other soldier approach from the left, and to have the two fathers advance from this angle. Darcy, too anxious for further rational thought, had simply agreed.

"If they hear sounds of an attack, would they not harm Bethanne?" Darcy asked, fearful that his reservations were based in truth.

"They do not expect a meeting until morning. The night is deep. We are safe," replied Wickham.

Darcy sighed under his breath. He had always been an athletic man - and even fatherhood, prosperity, and advancement in years had not kept him from his saddle or his magazine.

Still, all those activities he did for sport.

Tonight, it was his daughter's life at stake.

"Your footman indicated that there were three attackers, correct?" Wickham whispered, another long and frightful minute later.

"Yes," said Darcy.

"Good. Then we shall easily outnumber them."

Darcy waited, and he waited.

A thought lingered and tugged at the back of his mind.

When another minute passed without interruption, he finally asked, "Why did you choose to assist us?"

Wickham took two moments to reply, "I do it for my son."

"Your son?"

"Francis - cares for Bethanne."

To Darcy's surprise, Wickham's tone carried no victory or sting - and only resignation.

"You knew," Darcy grumbled.

"Francis wrote."

"And you approve?"

Wickham let loose what could only be described as a harsh yet helpless laugh. "What good does it do if you do not? For, surely, there is no remote possibility that you would grant your blessing."

It was a discomfiting feeling to be seen through by one's most sworn enemy.

"You are not wrong," said Darcy.

In the limited light they had, he could see Wickham nod.

"I tried to provide for him. It took many years to have a child, and I insisted that he be raised by his sensible grandfather rather than his ridiculous mother. I ensured that he be better than his old man ever was."

The soliloquy was unexpected, but Darcy listened to every word.

"If he had fallen for a tradesman's daughter - or a parson's child - or even a woman similar to his mother by birth, I believe he would have been worthy," Wickham continued, one eye on the guarded hut. "But, of course, he had to admire a young lady - perhaps the only young lady in the entire world save royalty - who was least attainable for him."

Darcy frowned. When was Wickham's man to begin the distraction - to save him from the musings of a reflective George Wickham?

"If you need me to deliver the blow to Francis, I will gladly carry out the task," Wickham concluded all on his own. "God knows you have done far more for me."

The signal came then - a horse's neigh and a gunshot. The men outside the hut ran towards the source of the noise. A quarter of a minute later, another, taller man emerged from the hut and turned to face the direction of his running comrades.

"Now!" Wickham commanded. All four men emerged from their hiding places and dashed to deliver the maiden trapped within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that I originally expected a little more sympathy for Francis, hehe. But I guess we all identify with D&E more than anyone else! I hope I am doing this unique plot justice.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mother!"

Elizabeth's eyes shot up sharply at the long-awaited sound. She stood immediately from the chair whose upholstery she had nearly ruined with endless, nervous picking the past five hours.

"Bethanne!" She opened her arms, eyes blurry, to welcome her child. Bethanne ran straight for her. Their embrace was dear, tight, and overwhelming. "Bethanne, my child, you are back. You are safe!"

"Yes, Mother." Bethanne wept into Elizabeth's shoulder.

Elizabeth cried twice as much as her daughter did.

The rapid beating of Elizabeth's heart ever since the rescue party had taken off had nearly halted altogether at the sight of her daughter - and now it returned with a fierce vengeance, surging with relief against her chest.

"Oh, Bethanne." Elizabeth sobbed, gathering her firstborn as close to her as she could.

"I am well, Mother. They have saved me. I am unharmed."

It took a soft chuckle from Bethanne to finally assure Elizabeth of the precious reality of the moment.

Slowly, she released her child just enough to conduct a good perusal of her condition.

Her clothes were muddy, particularly the hems of her coat and her gown. One sleeve was torn. Her hair fell wildly around her in a half-state between fine lady and unfortunate victim.

Yet her daughter was smiling - and there was, by God's grace, no sign of any permanent physical harm having come to her person.

Elizabeth's sigh came out trembling.

"Oh, thank God - thank Him a million, thousand times." She hugged her child again. This time, both of them smiled. And soon, Elizabeth heard her husband's steps approaching.

"Elizabeth."

"Fitzwilliam!" She traded child for husband - and immersed herself fully into her beloved's embrace. She felt his fatigue as he leaned a large part of his weight upon her. "You have saved her! You are well - oh, Fitzwilliam."

The clasping and sighing and sniffing continued for many more moments - until a loud, deliberate cough interrupted.

Elizabeth reluctantly opened her eyes and gently stood apart from her husband.

Then, she hardened.

"Wickham," she spoke, a deathly anger brewing in her throat. "What have you done to my child and my husband?"

George Wickham's hands were instantly braced in the air, as if protesting his innocence. "I did nothing, Mrs. Darcy - only what I could to deliver them back to you safely."

"And am I to believe that you and your men knew of this abduction purely by chance? Should I believe you innocent in such an oddly-timed attack - and preciously fitting offer of help?"

To Elizabeth's surprise, it was her husband who cut short Wickham's anticipated reply.

"Elizabeth - blame him not," came Darcy's firm but gentle whisper. "He did well."

It took one minute for the words to take any form of coherence in Elizabeth's mind.

"Without him and his men - or Francis," added Darcy, "we could never have recovered Bethanne."

What followed confused Elizabeth.

Before her very presence, her husband and George Wickham - his brother by name and eternal enemy by right - exchanged a trusting, knowing look.

Then both men nodded.

"I shall have my men return," said Wickham.

"Thank them with what I provided," Darcy replied.

"I shall."

"And you should - stay."

"Me?"

"Yes - with your wife and your son."

Elizabeth watched with fascination as the olive branch reached across time, across counties, across generations.

"Very well. Thank you, Darcy," Wickham accepted.

The master of Pemberley nodded, reached for Elizabeth's arm, entwined it with his, and whispered to her, "I shall explain all tonight."

"I am all ears."

Darcy nodded, and even sported a small smile, before moving to dismiss every individual to their respective chambers.

"Mother, I - "

"Bethanne," Elizabeth stopped any protests her daughter could offer. "The hour is late. We shall discuss it all tomorrow."

Elizabeth felt relief at her daughter's immediate, obedient acquiescence.

She felt distinctly less relief at the longing, lingering gaze Bethanne and Francis traded before each was ushered to his rooms.

* * *

Last night had been a night spent in deep thought, deep words, and deep reflection.

Despite his physical pain and fatigue, Darcy had discussed the situation thoroughly with his wife until the last candle flickered to a feeble death. Their mutual resolution at the end of their lengthy conversation had felt half parts choice and half parts resignation. It was not a decision they had ever thought they would freely make - but it was the one that came upon them then.

And so it was that this morning, despite the weight of his heart and the ache in his legs, Darcy marched himself to his study with the bravery and dignity of a king into battle. Behind him, the two Mr. Wickhams followed as directed - sentinels of his will.

"Sit," Darcy said simply when the three men were closeted at last in the privacy of his sacred study, the door firmly closed behind them.

His two visitors complied with his request, and Darcy rested his own weary body on his favorite chair.

The surface of his desk separated him from the two men who had emerged and re-merged so suddenly into his life - both to aid and to rob him of his firstborn child.

"Were your lodgings suitable?" Darcy began, resorting to avoiding the true issue at hand.

"Your generosity is beyond what we could ask - or deserve," Francis answered earnestly.

George, as always, smirked. "Agreed."

Darcy nodded slightly and sighed.

This was a conversation he did not wish to have - but, for the sake of daughter, had to face.

"I thank you both for the role you have played in Bethanne's deliverance," Darcy began, his eyes fixed upon the table before him. "I am forever indebted to you for your aid - and discretion."

"Of course," both men replied.

Darcy looked up slowly. The older Mr. Wickham looked at him casually, even fondly - their friendship restored by the wielding force that is fatherhood.

The younger Mr. Wickham looked mostly calm, but his fingers trembled on his lap.

There was no use prevaricating any further.

"I have asked you both here today - to discuss the state of Bethanne's future." Darcy drew on the courage he had when Georgiana's now-husband had first sought his counsel. "I trust you both to understand that any word of her abduction would thoroughly ruin her and the matter must be kept secret at all costs."

Again, both men nodded.

"I am exceedingly thankful that the criminals had not attempted to harm her person. I cannot bear the thought of having her matrimonial prospects so thoroughly compromised," Darcy continued. "This entire ordeal has brought to my attention the fact that my daughter is now a grown woman - and it is imperative that I ensure she marry someone who could protect and care for her."

Darcy waited for the right moment.

Then, he looked directly at Francis. "Would you - either of you - happen to know anyone who could earn my daughter's heart, deserve her hand, and vow to protect her from all earthly harm?"

The weight and meaning of Darcy's question hung in the room for the longest half-minute of his life. _This_ was his furthest concession. He _refused_ to speak in any plainer words - lest it be misunderstood that he _wished_ to have an alliance with this family.

"Uncle Darcy," said Francis, voice and lips trembling, "may I have your permission to court your daughter?"

And so it was - the moment was come.

Darcy was almost relieved that it had finally arrived.

"To what end?" he asked.

"To seek her favor - if she wishes to bestow it - as I strive to earn her hand in marriage," Francis replied, every word crisp.

Darcy nodded slowly, still overwhelmed by the latest series of events.

"And if she _were_ to bestow this favor - how shall you provide for her?"

"I ask to court her, sir, for I know that - "

"Francis has an estate - albeit a small one - two towns away from Meryton," George Wickham interrupted. Both Darcy and Francis turned to face him. George smiled. "I purchased it with my own money - money I have wisely withheld from my wife. It is a modest one, but its income shall support my son when he marries."

The older Mr. Wickham regarded his son. Darcy watched with fascination as the facts settled upon Francis's face.

"You sacrifice too much for me, Papa."

George's smile broadened. "It is only right."

"But I dare not - " Francis turned to face Darcy now. "I did not know this, Uncle Darcy."

"I thought as much."

"And I - I asked only to court Bethanne knowing that I shall have no means to support her until I am granted the Hunsford living." Now, Francis seemed to talk almost to himself. "I cannot ask a woman I love to support _me_ from her own funds. It should never be so."

Darcy waited for the young man to regain his coherence.

When he did, Francis Wickham spoke with bright, hopeful eyes. "Uncle Darcy, if - if Beth - if Cousin Bethanne were to consent to a courtship, do I have your permission to seek an engagement? I - I know I presume much - but it is only now that I permit myself the audacity to hope. Uncle Darcy, I - oh, I throw myself at your mercy."

For one moment, Darcy found himself with the upper hand - and the young man who threatened his very happiness now handed him the very power to destroy his.

Darcy surprised even himself with the ease with which he said, quite simply, "You have my consent."

* * *

The view was familiar. Georgiana and her suitors had walked the same paths, meandered among the same garden trails. These were paths even she and and her husband still took whenever time and weather permitted.

But now, Elizabeth found herself in the role of a spectator - watching with her very eyes as her only daughter blushed beside her cousin. Francis once more proved himself gentlemanly, always walking close enough to aid Bethanne yet far enough to maintain propriety. Their conversation was animated, with both young persons smiling in turn.

It was, perhaps, a good enough end to an unexpected chapter.

There was no doubt that Francis would propose before the summer's end. Miss Darcy would remain Miss Darcy for only so much longer. Soon, Pemberley would be dwindling in its occupants once more.

"Do you fault me?" Came her beloved Darcy's voice as he approached her side.

Elizabeth smiled softly, still facing her bedroom window. "How can I - when I am too occupied with blaming myself?"

"There is nothing we could have done to direct the inclinations of her heart." Her husband snaked his arms around her waist. Elizabeth leaned back against his chest. "You raised her well - and it is but natural that many would admire her."

"And what of Pemberley? Shall it be - "

"Do not worry." Darcy kissed her brow sweetly. Though not one for public displays of affection, her husband was always tender whenever they found themselves alone. "Edward shall live."

"But he is so frail - " Elizabeth's voice caught in her throat. To lose one child to love, and quite possibly another to illness - the very thoughts overwhelmed her.

Thank God her husband - constant, strong, and true - was her ever strength and stay.

"All will be well." He held her close. Elizabeth turned to hug him properly. "Our daughter may have observed what we had not. Francis may prove us wrong yet."

A quiet heartbeat passed before Darcy concluded, "He already has tenfold."

In the stillness of their bedroom, Elizabeth nodded against her husband's body. He embraced her warmly, pressing her dearly to himself. Elizabeth had no powers over what the future may bring - but here, in this moment, she had all she needed to have.

Perhaps all she truly _could_ ask for was her daily bread and sustenance.

Tomorrow would worry about itself.

"There is one comfort, you see," her husband whispered above her head.

"Yes?"

Slowly, he leaned down to kiss her. She kissed him back with the comforting richness of familiarity.

He smiled at her after.

"I find _some_ comfort in the thought that while my unfortunate daughter and her friend are doomed to stuffy walks in the formal garden until they wed - _I_ get to have my wife in my bedroom, in my arms."

Eventually, even Elizabeth had to smile.

She pulled him close with the arms she had braced behind his neck.

"And what of it?"

"Plenty," said her husband.

And he proceeded to distract them both with the plentiful things they could make of the hour.

Thank God Bethanne, in her goodness and purity, was too far away from the family wing to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have a short epilogue left for this unusual story. I know many of you may not approve of the pairing, but the novelty really drew me in; and I hope I was able to make things interesting, at least. I plan to post a couple of shorter works before posting a longer work soon. I hope you'll enjoy them!


	5. Chapter 5

"The soup is fantastic, Lizzy. You _must_ tell me how you have your staff make it so wonderfully."

"It is indeed very tasty, Mrs. Darcy."

"See, even Wicky says so - and he is most picky!"

Elizabeth smiled gently at the couple seated across the table. The two years since Bethanne's abduction had seen the two families sharing company far more often than either households may have ever predicted. The first few visits had felt stilted - formal and awkward. Lydia's eyes sparkled with curiosity whenever she visited a Darcy property. Wickham had, more than once, jested about Francis and Bethanne's future in a way that had settled ill with Darcy.

But family they were - and family they were to be.

And so they learned.

They learned to understand that Lydia's exultations over everything her sister owned was truly more harmless childishness than genuine greed. They overheard Wickham speaking with his soldiers and acknowledged, albeit begrudgingly, that he was indeed acting civilly enough when with the Darcys. Francis, product of his grandfather's education, proved over and over again that his humility, intelligence, and grace were the farthest thing from an act.

Perhaps Bethanne had chosen wisely, after all.

"I do enjoy the spread very much, my dear," her dear Darcy leaned over to whisper - softly enough to be intimate, loudly enough to be polite. "New motherhood inspires you, I see."

Elizabeth chuckled - as did Wickham and Lydia.

Along with the unexpected gain of a new son in Francis - Darcy and Elizabeth had gained yet another child since that life-changing kidnapping. Little George Darcy slept in the nursery, even now, with his large brown eyes closed beneath his head of dark curls. The arrival of a baby brother had altered Edward greatly - and contributed vastly to his improved health.

Every day, twelve-year-old Edward would wax poetic about all the things he planned to teach young George once the babe could walk.

Elizabeth admitted she looked forward keenly to those days as well.

"The babe looks _exactly_ like you, Lizzy," Lydia spoke over her well-filled plate, "I dare say he's almost pretty if one looks a certain way."

Again, laughter ensued.

There were things in life that inevitably brought people together. The new hope of a young child was one. The union of young people was another.

And as Francis and Bethanne Wickham enjoyed their honeymoon on the continent, their parents traded smiles in Pemberley's dining hall.

In another two days, Wickham's regiment would take him and Lydia to a new horizon to the north - a new command, a new adventure.

For now, Elizabeth let herself be content that in loving her daughter - she had gained two sons and reacquired a sister and brother.

Her husband had said something the night before - something on how the new generation of Darcys and Wickhams would fill the shades of Pemberley with their mingled laughter yet again.

And thus, in its own way, things had gone around in the world and returned to its original place.

Life was often funny that way.


End file.
